Blest in your Dian's guardian smile,Whose shafts the flying silvans stay,Come, foot the Lesbian measure, whileThe lyre I play:Sing of Latona's glorious boy,Sing of night's queen with crescent horn,Who wings the fleeting months with joy,And swells the corn.And happy brides shall say, “'Twas mine,When years the cyclic season brought,To chant the festal hymn divineBy Horace taught.”The snow is fled: the trees their leaves put on,The fields their green:Earth owns the change, and rivers lessening runTheir banks between.Naked the Nymphs and Graces in the meadsThe dance essay:“No 'scaping death” proclaims the year, that speedsThis sweet spring day.